


Weird Science

by tinfoil (milkystarlight)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Kaiju Newton Geiszler, M/M, Mad Science, Monster Transformation, Not Pacific Rim: Uprising (2018) Compliant, PWP, ksvp16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-03 09:40:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20263369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milkystarlight/pseuds/tinfoil
Summary: Newt has become a bit of a mad scientist in his quest for self-improvement.





	Weird Science

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Otachistongue on tumblr, as part of the K-Science Valentine's Party in 2016. I thought it would be nice to have more of my fiction in one place, so I'm posting it here.

When Newt wakes, suddenly roughly the size of a VW Bug and ravenously hungry, he doesn’t remember anything. The room is cold, dark, windowless; there's nothing in it but the pallet on the floor that he had shredded in his sleep. He backs into a corner, tail curled around himself as he crouches and tries to trace back how he got here. The tail is new. So are the horns, which he finds himself compulsively rubbing in an effort to calm down.

It comes back in flashes, disconnected scenes that have happened to some other version of him; someone small and pudgy—_vermin_—his mind supplies. That’s not right. That’s him, isn’t it? Small, human, ineffective, but absolutely and completely him.

It started with glowing. Newt’s freckles, the ones that haven’t been covered with ink, gave off a soft blue glow that didn’t do much for his complexion. He can remember watching his reflection as he flicked the bathroom lights on and off. The glow appeared in direct response to darkness. No problem, he decided. Just stay somewhere well lit, no one will notice. He remembers not wanting to give Hermann any false hope.

Even so, he had been on the verge of panic. He can almost remember his stomach lurching sideways at the sight of the first glowing speck, something cold shooting up his spine. This time, it might be real. After so many trials, so many failures, this time it might have worked. 

No one had understood his research at first. Sure, Chau had given him a great job cloning kaiju tissue to keep the market afloat, and the idea of creating what Newt had lovingly called “teacup kaiju” had some merit (the exotic pet market was wild for the idea), but all of it was just there to fund what he really needed: Kaiju, in any way he could get them. Hours spent elbow-deep in viscera, alone with samples and chunks floating in containment jars…Privately, Newt thought that alone is what did it. When you spend all your time in a windowless lab surrounded by kaiju parts, you start seeing yourself as more kaiju than human.

Hermann had told him that the Drift didn’t help, but Newt felt differently. Drifting with the kaiju had solidified his unspoken feelings. He’d been in the Hivemind, felt its security an safety. Felt its power and the animal joy of existing as so many, of being part of something so much larger, so much better. He was left empty without it, stripped down to his very human and very small soul. Nothing could come close to fixing it.

It had been Hermann’s idea, he remembers. Hermann who had looked at him across the breakfast table in their tiny apartment and said simply “Chau would fund whatever you wanted to do. If not him there’s some government that would pay a fortune for it.”

Newt, never the most perceptive person, hadn’t understood the unspoken conversation between them. Hermann was better at reading the thoughts that were shared across their lingering ghost drift. Newt didn’t know it then, but he’d been feeding his depression and longing across their connection for months. 

“Fix yourself, Newton! Or am I supposed to spend the rest of my life watching my husband slowly crumble because he’s not himself?” Worry made him sharper than usual, the words stung…but he had been right. 

The fight that followed had been one of their best; nearly coming to blows with Hermann always felt good. The makeup sex alone was worth it. With that, as far as Newt had been concerned, he had permission from the only real authority in his life. 

A week later Hannibal Chau had agreed to fund their research into creating a way to transform humans into kaiju. It was deceptively simple in principle, but infuriating in practice. They had started work on it together, and although Newt can’t remember it now there must have been hours in the lab pouring over data, running trial after trial between the other work Chau had them on. He can remember the bitter disappointment when the first round of K Virus viable for human testing had left him violently ill but still regrettably human.

After the first trial, their hopes were more closely guarded. 

After the tenth trial Hermann offered himself as a test subject. “After all,” he’d reasoned. “If you succeed in this it’s only a matter of time until I’m infected.” Which, true, Newt had thought about (had, more accurately, fantasied about). By then Hermann knew nearly every idiotic thing that went through Newt’s unguarded mind. They hadn't talked about how infectious this virus was meant to be, but it stood to reason that whatever happened to Newt would eventually drag Hermann down. 

Six months and fourty-two trials later, Newt woke up with the first physical change of his glorious new infection.

It had hurt, growing into this new self. It had hurt, and it took an absurd about of calories to maintain it. He remembered gnawing hunger that never really faded. Hermann had scolded him about demolishing box after box of pre-packaged snack cakes while he tampered with the budding virus. They couldn’t be sure, after all, that this would be the perfect fit. For all they knew Newt might revert to normal any day.

In spite of their fears he was changing. The dual urges to consume everything he could and to rip his own skin off was beyond infuriating; it had been nearly impossible to do anything while he fought the compulsions. The fact that the changes were becoming more and more obvious was enough for him to put up with it, but only barely.

For what it had been worth, Hermann seemed to like him softer. At night they laid together in bed, Hermann running his hands lightly, delicately, over the distended paunch of Newt’s stomach, kissing his shoulders. Newt could barely stand to be touched; the virus had made his skin hypersensitive. Every little brush sent jolts through him like electrocution. It was easier to turn him on, but every time Hermann so much as ran a fingertip over the raw head of his cock he was reduced to tears of pain. 

“You’re probably going to lose this, when it’s all over.” Hermann mumbled against his shoulder, trying to find a way to touch him that didn’t hurt. 

“God, I hope so.” Newt laughed.

Things are fuzzier after that. He thinks he remembers the cracks in his skin, the places where it had begun to slough off to reveal grey scales growing underneath. He thinks, curled here in the dark, that he remembers Hermann’s shaking hands peeling away the dead skin. He thinks he remembers him smiling.

From there…from there he’s not sure he wants to remember. He knows what probably happens; thinks back to captured caterpillars when he was a child, watching them spin cocoons around themselves. Had he done that? It seemed unlikely. Even before locking himself away here in the dark he’d seen some of the changes happening.

abruptly the image of jagged, bony protrusions growing through his skin thrusts itself to the fore of his mind. He remembers his fingernails falling off, painless and almost bloodless, to make way for black claws growing from his fingertips. The claws are retractable now, he realizes, testing them against his leathery palm. 

He takes stock as best he can in the semi-darkness. The dull glow of his bioluminescent spots is the only light, but it’s enough to put an image to the changes he feels. He flexes his toes, longer now and tipped with claws he can’t fully retract. His skin is tougher now, dark grey, still scattered with blue freckles. The tattoos are gone, lost when he shed the last of his old skin. It’s hard to mourn them now that he has so well surpassed the pathetic imitation of his tattoos.

His legs are strange now, digitigrade and longer. He stands shakily and takes a few experimental steps. With his tail held out for balance he does a little better. It’s going to take a while for him to learn to move properly. 

He runs uncertain hands over his face, trepidation turning to bright joy at the sensation of horns, the brilliant vertical slit in his chin. His skull, as he blindly drags his palms down his face, is longer, the front reformed in a slight snout. He opens his mouth, and, yes, the lower right and left parts of his chin spread out, connected by a thin membrane. The fins on his cheeks ruff up and he trills happily.

It’s perfect, he’s sure of it, even if he can’t actually see any of it yet. All he needs now is–

A shaft of light illuminates the room as the door is thrown open, and Newt is stumbling towards it as best as he can with his strange new body, falling over himself to embrace his husband. He knows its Hermann before he actually sees him, he can smell the funny mixture of tea and chalk and Home. The smell is shot through with the acidic tang of worry. 

Newt is dimly aware of someone, maybe Chau, yelling from the doorway, but he can’t actually be bothered to process that. He needs Hermann, needs to hold him and kiss him and consume him, bring him into their Hivemind where he’s safe.

Hermann is saying something between the kisses he’s planting on Newt’s snout, laughing, touching him, but the words are meaningless. In the sliver of space between them he can hear his thoughts, a repetitive litany of _Missed you so much, idiot detestable boy, love you, love you, _

“How long was I…?” Newt tries to ask, but his new vocal cords can’t actually get around those words. 

“Three months, almost four.” Hermann answers, lightly stroking the frills that adorn his cheekbones. He doesn’t say anything, but the mental image of a lionfish transfers into Newt’s mind, and they both laugh. 

_Missed you._ Newt thinks, gently nudging his forehead against Hermann’s. When they kiss it’s awkward, more tongue than anything else. They’ll work on that. Newt pulls away briefly, licks a long stripe down Hermann’s neck—he can taste his blood through his skin, and he distracts himself with trying to get his hands under his shirt.

They’re both frantic, trying to do too much at once. Hermann’s cane is discarded as Newt drags him back to the remains of the mattress, nearly shredding his clothing in the process. His claws can't seem to stay sheathed. 

When Newt trips over himself he hits the floor with a surprisingly loud thud, startling them both into laughter. Hermann braces against him to step out of his pants and boxers, and Newt lift him to lay across his belly. 

_Taller than you now,_ Newt laughs as he finally, finally, feels the heat of Hermann’s skin against his. He’s so small, so pale, breakable and vulnerable. Newt stretches one clawed hand over his chest, makes that happy trilling noise when he sees the way his partner’s breath hitches. He could crush Hermann, they both recognize in the same instant. Break his sternum, crush his windpipe; but he doesn’t, would never. Hermann is too precious to him for that.

Instead he drags his tongue down his chest, lightly runs his claws down his back to try and distract himself from the bizarre sensation of something shifting inside him, the slit between his legs parting to let something unfurl from inside him.

It’s not exactly a cock; it is in fact farther from a penis than Newt expected. It’s long, prehensile, and glowing softly blue. He can’t actually see himself over Hermann, who is still kissing him like its the only way he can breathe, but its bright enough to cast a dim light and illuminate Hermann's sallow skin. 

Carefully, tentatively, he slides the strange new appendage along the slight curve of his partner’s ass, and feels the ripple of _fear-excitement-Want!_ That courses through him. It’s slick, dripping with something viscous that makes the air around them smell faintly like lotus blossoms. He doesn’t think Hermann can smell it, but it seems to have some effect on him anyway, as he shudders and groans, rocking back to let Newt’s prehensile cock squirm against his hole.

The first few tapered inches slide in easily. Hermann is tight, but the first little bit isn’t wide enough for discomfort. It’s not until he’s seated further back, Newt pressing insistently up into him, that a look of pain crosses his face. 

Laughing, shaking, Hermann forces himself a little further back even as Newt holds his hips, hands guiding him and forcing him to take it slower. “There’s too much.” Hermann sounds utterly amazed, voice full of some strange joy that neither of them understands. “I can’t…” He breaks off, biting his lip when the tentacle inside him twitches.

After that all pretense of control is lost. It takes everything in Newt not to roll over, pin Hermann down, and fuck him apart. Newt wants to give him everything, bury inside him until their hips are flush, but there’s no way Hermann can manage that. Not yet, anyway. He settles for holding his hips, steadying him as he rides and rolling his hips gently up.

They create a feedback loop of pleasure, minds linked and all lingering barriers worn down. There’s no distinction between them now, Newt can only think of Hermann as some very small and vulnerable part of himself, the part he needs to protect. This is the hidden delicate part that he’s afraid to touch, a raw nerve that he cannot, will not, stop toying with.

The first orgasm tears through Hermann a fraction of a second before it hits Newt, whose snarl drowns out any other noise. The sensory overload is short but blinding. Their connection burns through every sense, drowning out his awareness of anything and everything except the spaces where they melt into each other.

Hermann collapses on him, shuddering, stomach wet with his paltry release and ass dripping with kaiju cum. He shivers through the aftershocks, props himself up on his elbows and fixes Newt with what is meant to be a very serious look. 

“You absolutely cannot do that every time I walk into the room.”

_No, of course not. _

“It’s unseemly. We’d never get anything done.” 

_Right. Better get it out of my system now._

Newt can’t remember ever feeling this good, this close to complete. The ramifications of his transformation don’t matter. He’s made himself into what he was always meant to be, and any cost that might come at is worth it.

In a few hours they’ll go back to the lab. They’ll run the final tests, gather the last of the data to send Chau their preliminary report on the final version of the K Virus. For now its enough to lay together like this, slowly weaving the threads of their consciousness together, this much closer to becoming whole.


End file.
